by Mark Tufo
Tracy jumped out of the truck and placed the muzzle against the Geno’s exposed brain. Matter flew up and over the front of her pants up to the knee.
“Everyone out!” she yelled. “Rut, call in the rest.”
His gazed at her uncertainly, but did as she ordered.
“Alright, everyone get in a line and spread out. Keep firing until you don’t have anything left.”
She received her fair share of headshakes and incredulous looks.
“Do or die I suppose,” one of the soldiers muttered as he raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. Genogerians went down as he blew open skulls or severed spines. The Genogerians were much better prepared for a frontal war, where the bulk of their armor both natural and Geno-made was located. They were not used to running away or being pursued—that was just not in the natural order of things. In almost every planet they’d invaded they’d been the dominant species save one, where only their advanced technology was able to overcome a larger and fiercer adversary. Even then, they had not run. At first, the human firing line was hesitant, ready to bolt at the first sign of the Genos turning. Rut had stayed in the truck and was keeping pace as the Marines advanced, fired, and reloaded.
“Why aren’t they turning?” someone asked.
“Who gives a shit? Keep shooting,” someone else replied.
“Would you rather they did?” another posed.
The line grew as more troops joined in.
“Get the RPGs up here!” Tracy was motioning with her arm. The Genogerians were being bled but not at a fast enough pace. The smell of iron rich blood intermingled with gun smoke dominated as the desert drank its due. Rockets exploded into the mix sending body parts spurting into the air. Vast swaths of Genogerians were dying and still accumulatively it was equivalent to taking a glass of water out of a swimming pool. Given enough time they could be stopped this way but time was a commodity that was running low as the Genos ran headlong into the booby trapped area.
More explosions rang out as Claymore mines sent ball bearings the size of marbles hurtling into the masses. Legs were shredded, torsos lay open, and faces turned into mashed portraits of their former selves. And still they ran. Lieutenant Carbonara waited as long as he could before he had the hastily dug trench lit on fire, the fuel causing a ten-foot high wall of flame. The first line of Genos had been hesitant to cross but was forced through it from the press from behind. Genos screamed in rage and pain as they burned alive. Rifle fire from the ridge added itself into the fight, mercifully killing those who were cooking alive.
“This isn’t really how a crossfire is supposed to work, ma’am,” Rut yelled as Tracy came up to his side of the truck. It was actually a fairly dangerous game they were playing, even with taking the Genogerians out of the equation. Marines were at the front firing back and Marines were in the back firing forward. The only thing protecting them was the heavy press of so many Genogerians between them.
“Get on the horn with the L.T. Tell him to withdraw and meet us on this side!” Tracy could tell she was going to be talking with a rasp for a few days—she was shredding her voice trying to be heard. She waited for confirmation before getting back on the line.
“Ma’am, he wants to talk to you!” Rut was handing out the radio receiver.
“Captain, I’d like to leave a few men up here,” Carbonara said.
“Negative! They’ll be all over your position within the next few minutes, get out of there!”
“With all due respect, ma’am, how fast can you run?”
She understood his inference. If there were nothing to the front slowing the Genos down they would be once again free to run at full tilt. It’d be like a Dachshund trying to keep up with a Greyhound once they were off to the races.
“Get your men off the ridge, we’ll figure it out when you get down here.”
The Genos had indeed slowed down as they dealt with the fire, claymore mines and the driving fire of the defenders. It even helped coalesce the Genos who seemed to want to be in on the action as opposed to moving away from it. And still, Tracy’s unit harangued them from the rear. Occasionally a few Genos would look at what was going on, one or two actually taking a hasty shot, but the only injury anyone had suffered up to this point was a broken ankle when a private stepped into a hole.
The Genos were advancing, albeit slower. Tracy held up her troops as the tanks were still firing into the congealed mass. She felt reasonably safe from friendly fire where they stood. She had a moment to reflect on the thought of “friendly fire”. How could anybody firing at you be construed as friendly? Oh Mike, that so seems like a question you would ask, she mused. I hope you’re alright and that we’ll be together again soon.
There was a moment when the Genos progress was halted—maybe the span of ten to twelve heartbeats, not much more—then it was like a dam burst. Genogerians flooded up the side of the ridge. The chasers could hear the sporadic fire of M-16s and a tank round from time to time. Tracy just hoped it was part of a strategic withdrawal on Carbonara’s part. She knew she’d been disobeyed the moment the firing became more intense. It was the shooting of the desperate.
“Son of a bitch!”
***
Alex had known the only chance his Captain would have to kill more of the Genogerians was to slow them up as much as possible. He sent the valuable tanks and most of the men under his command away. He asked for volunteers, nearly all had said they would stand with him. He chose a hundred or so and said his goodbyes to the rest. Full-throated war cries came forth from the Genos as they ran up the hill. Alex and his men fought savagely, torrents of bullets raining down on the Genogerians.
***
Tracy’s forces pushed on relentlessly when they figured out what was happening on the ridge. Their war cry was added to the din.
Tracy saw the column of defenders head south and west, trying to get away from the advancing army in order to eventually swing around and get in behind them. This fight would be long over before they’d be able to help. With so many blue rays being concentrated on the top of the ridge, the rock itself began to liquefy and run down the slope, looking like mini flows of magma.
Return fire began to dwindle and finally stopped as the overpowering force blasted through. Tracy could hear the screams of men as they wept for mercy or their mothers. Neither would be forthcoming. To the base of the ridge they followed, the mass of so many dead Genogerians slowing their progress. Some began to climb the ridge to follow.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Tracy ordered. It was long minutes later that the final shot rang out. The last of the Genogerians were clearing the ridgeline. The chasers were drenched in sweat and soaking in adrenaline. Many were hunched over, hands on knees, some evacuating what was in their stomachs due to exertion or the overpowering smell of death.
Rut at some point had abandoned his truck and had been alongside the others, exacting his own fair measure of revenge for all those he had lost.
“What now?” he yelled, even though it was almost as quiet as a church.
“We wait for the others to catch up, take a small breather and then we chase those bastards into the ocean if necessary.”
“Sounds like a plan!” He was shouting again. The top of the mount sizzled and cracked as the rocks and twisted metal cooled. She would have spent the time to bury the dead but that would have meant they found some sort of remains. Tracy had Rut radio to the rest of the battalion to meet them on the other side of the ridge. There was a heavy degree of sadness intermingled with their success as the troops walked over their old encampment. They’d lost friends here yet they had made the Genogerians pay dearly for the ground they’d traversed.
Tracy didn’t know if she was more pissed off, saddened or proud when the final tally of those lost was assessed. She’d lost a hundred and ninety two souls that day. Most of the losses had been in a futile attempt by her Lieutenant to halt the progress of the Genogerians. She was going to miss her second in command. She had a conservative estimate that the
Genogerians had suffered far more grievously, maybe somewhere in the fifteen to eighteen thousand mark.
“In two hours they lost five percent of their fighting force and they didn’t even blink,” Rut shook his head as he spoke. “Too bad they don’t stop to bury their dead, we’d be able to finish them off completely then. They can’t take too many more days like that.”
“Neither can we,” Tracy said. “Percentage wise we lost more than they did. And we only have a few more days before they get to that factory. Better let the General know that he needs to start evacuating. If he has any troops he can spare, now would be the time to send some.”
It took a few minutes until a response came. “He wants to speak with you,” Rut told her.
“This is Captain Talbot,” Tracy said as she took the receiver.
“Captain, you didn’t neutralize the threat?” he asked. He seemed rather surprised to be speaking to her.
She wanted to ask him how in the hell he expected her to do that with the limited resources he’d given her but, unlike her husband, she kept her mouth in check. “No sir. We’ve suffered some losses and had to withdraw. However, I found a new tactic to deal with the enemy and we’ve inflicted some heavy casualties on them.”
Tracy could almost feel the freeze emanating from the handset. “I told you to hold that ridge at all costs, Captain.”
“Sir, it would have been senseless to stay; we could not hold them back.”
“Are you questioning my orders, Captain?”
“The term “suicide” comes to mind, sir.”
“Your husband would not have abandoned his post.”
“You’re probably right, sir, and now your best friend would have been dead…was that the point all along?”
“That sounds a lot like insubordination.”
“You can call it whatever you’d like, sir. I saw no reason to plant three thousand crosses atop that hill.”
Rut had an utter look of shock on his face as his Captain verbally duked it out with the Commander of the Free World.
There was an unnaturally long silence. Tracy thought for a moment that they might have lost comm. After a heavy sigh Paul spoke.
“Can you stop them?”
“Sir, with anything short of a nuke I just don’t know. They have absolutely no fear. If it’s possible to get more...”
“I can’t get you more of anything. We are stretched beyond our means. You’ll have to make due.”
“Sir, the new tactic….”
The line went dead.
“That went well,” Tracy said, handing the mic to an astonished Rut. “Make sure everyone has eaten and then we’re going croc hunting.”
“Yes ma’am,” Rut said enthusiastically and with a new found respect for the Captain.
Chapter Seventeen - Paul
Paul had been thinking about his and Mike’s relationship after he’d got off the horn with Tracy. He was realizing just how much of his best friend was rubbing off on her. Paul loved Mike—that was without doubt. He just wished that occasionally he would be more compliant like Dennis had been. Dennis was a true soldier; he’d followed orders without question. Paul didn’t necessarily want that all the time but some modicum of military decorum from Mike, and now Tracy, would be acceptable. Mike would get the job done, of that there was little doubt, but the manner in which he did it would always be suspect. He had faith in Tracy’s leadership, but he’d just given her a goal that was unattainable.
“Sir, I’m requesting permission to land and I have yet to hear anything from the Guardian.”
Paul had come up from the passenger area and was looking at the large ship. “Hail them again.”
The pilot did as he requested. There was static, silence and then the dreaded response. “Land and submit,” was the terse reply.
“Sir?” The pilot asked Paul, looking over at him.
“We’ve lost the Guardian.”
“Weapons lock, sir. Should I employ evasive maneuvers?”
“No, reply and comply with their demands. I need to get closer.”
“Sir?” the pilot questioned but did as he was ordered.
“We’d never get away in this heap. Even if the Guardian missed, her fighters would be on us before we could get back to the atmosphere.”
“I realize that, sir, but we cannot afford for you to be captured.”
“I have no intention of being captured. Tell them I’m on board and maybe they won’t use us for target practice.”
“Yes sir.”
Paul walked back to his seat, a small satchel that Mike tauntingly called Paul’s man-purse on the seat next to where he’d been sitting. “I had hoped to never have to use this.” He sat down. “I should be struggling to earn a wage I think is fair and partying hard on the weekends with my friends, not trying to keep Earth from falling into enemy hands.”
“Sir, they are awaiting our arrival.”
“I’m sure they are.”
Paul waited until they were at the appropriate distance. “Open the comm.”
“To the bridge, sir?”
“To the entire ship.”
After a few moments the pilot gave Paul a nod.
“To the loyal crew of the Guardian, it appears that renegade forces within our military have taken over Earth’s only viable means of defense from the Progerian offensive. I cannot allow this to happen and will be initiating Project Mistletoe. It is my sincerest hopes that those of you still alive will be able to get to designated safe zones. For those who cannot, your sacrifice will not be forgotten. God’s speed.” Paul sighed before depressing the button on his transmitter.
“Sir?” the pilot questioned.
Paul pointed towards the ship, as illuminated panels across the bow went out first, followed by the stern. “I’ve shut down the ship.” Paul sat heavily in the vacant co-pilot seat.
“For how long?”
“Until they’re all dead.”
“Oh my God…I’ve got friends up there!”
“We all do. With any luck they’ll get to their suits and wait it out until we can get back with reinforcements.”
“How long will that be?”
“Our computer models show that the ship’s air will last for upwards of eight hours. It’s the cold that will finish them off before that. It’s almost absolute zero in space and without any heat generated; everything will be frozen solid in few hours. The Guardian is soon to be a floating ball of ice.”
“How long are the suits good for?” There was a look of desperation on the pilot’s face.
“Three hours. Burn heavy back to earth, we need some soldiers.”
The pilot did the math in his head. Best-case scenario put them a half-hour past the deadline. He was going to do his best to push his shuttle past its maximum safe operating limit.
Chapter Eighteen – Mike Journal Entry 09
I probably could have drowned in the amount of alien go-go juice I was receiving. I was feeling simultaneously better and drained. By the time I was done with my new drug regiment I was close to a hundred percent physically, yet I didn’t think I could lift a kitten without some help. Although why I’d want to hold a kitten (a known gatekeeper to hell) is just another one of life’s little mysteries.
Dee had already brought Travis back to my house. He thought it would be best if the little one stayed in a familiar environment while Tracy and I were gone. Dee hoped he would see the both of us again but he didn’t feel all that confident. I told him that he needed to work on his lying skills and we left it at that. I showed up to the base airfield a little after noon, days after Tracy had left. I didn’t have orders, didn’t figure I’d need them as a full bird Colonel. I was thinking I’d just flash the shiny shit on my collars and people would bow at my feet. If it didn’t work out quite as well as I’d hoped I was going to hijack a shuttle if necessary. I think the two escorts I was assigned were catching wind of my intentions.
They stayed close, so much so I’m sure I could have asked one
for a courtesy wipe if I had to go to the bathroom. I was thinking of doing just that to see how dedicated they were to their mission, but my priority was getting to Tracy, not messing with those dill-wads. Someone eventually got a hold of Paul and I got clearance to hitch a ride. I was a little annoyed with Paul that he wouldn’t speak to me personally but then I figured he might be feeling a little guilty for risking my wife’s life. I wonder what he would have thought if I’d done that to Beth. I had a feeling I’d be looking at a firing squad.
“Sir, you can’t be up here,” the pilot told me for the fifth or sixth time.
“I’ll be anywhere I damn please. Can’t you make this bucket go any faster?”
“Sir, we’re at Mach-5.”
“Is that fast?”
He looked at me like one would a particularly slow first grader.
“Listen, I shoot stuff for a living. Just hurry up.”
It was an hour later when he called me up. He was pointing through the front windshield.
“Is that a sand storm?”
“Sort of. That’s a Genogerian army in full battle mode.”
“Holy Mother of God.” I absently crossed myself. It had been so long since I’d last done it that I was relatively amazed I still knew how. The shuttle began to veer south. “What are you doing?”
“Can’t fly over, sir. They’d shoot us down.”
“He sent Tracy to fight that?” I asked, more to myself than to the pilot.
“Sir, are you referring to the Battle at Twenty-Nine Palms and Third Battalion?”
“What? Yes,” I said, trying to shake the feelings of dread from my soul.
“The Palms fell in under two hours, sir.”
I think I stepped on my heart.
“We’ve been getting sporadic reports that there were survivors, though.”
“Any idea who?” I was being selfish and to be honest I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Tracy’s safety.
“Not really, sir. The General has us on radio silence.”
